


At Least the Sky is Shining Bright

by xKeshire



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: All27 - Freeform, Disability, Multi, Muteness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-04-26 20:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xKeshire/pseuds/xKeshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a horrific accident, there was no brain trauma. No vocal chord damage. Nothing. The doctors were stumped, but Tsuna could care less. It was better this way, but now thanks to a fedora-wearing child, he has more problems to deal with. Like becoming the next Vongola Boss and finding people who make him want to talk again. (All27)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Italicized - writing / flashbacks

It was a freak accident. A little too much force in a shove that sent a fragile body hurtling into the busy Namimori streets. Alarmed gasps and the sound of rubber burning on the paved streets pierce through the hustle and bustle but do little to stop the body from careening into a black sedan doing its best to slow down as it gears spin to their maximum potential. The inevitable contact resounds solidly, the body sent flying until it lies in an unnatural resting position several feet away. Blood pools around it as the owner of the body slowly reaches up to the sky, arms shaking from the effort, blood flowing from every pore. 

“So this is how I will die,” he wonders as the distant sound of human chatter pierces his failing ears. His vision blurs, unable to make out the worried faces hovering above him. Distantly he wishes he had the willpower to ask these obstructions to move out of the way. He wants the last thing he sees before he dies to be the sky. The ever present sky. Always there for him in thick and thin even in the midst of thunderstorms, rain, and snow. His comfort. His sole friend. An inexplicable rush of heat runs to the fore front of his mind, the thought of seeing the sky consuming his entire will. Slowly, his extended hand twitches reflexively side to side and the blur of colors part for him to expose the vast blue. Finally. . .“At least the sky is shining bright.”

*****

_“Incorrect.” Nezu-sensei remarked. He made a show of pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing exasperatedly, but there was no disguising the self-righteous smirk gracing his thin lips. You wished you could disappear, melt into the ground and drown in your classmates’ snickers which were quickly growing into tidal wave of sound. “Honestly,” Nezu-sensei continued, “it’s people like you who are burdensome sacks of garbage that only bog down our elite-society.”_

_He walked over to you, footsteps resonating throughout the classroom, somehow drowning out and sounding more ominous than your classmates. He placed his hands on your desk, and leaned his face far over, so close that you could see your frightened reflection in his ancient glasses: light brown hair wild and untamed, brown eyes dilated, and lips cautiously pressed in a line. His rancid breath washed over you as he breathed heavily through his mouth, and you could not help flinching back in disgust. His thin lips opened into a cruel sneer and his next few words were filled with so much spite, hate, and distaste. They would echo for years to come in your head._

_“If you have nothing smart to say, trash like you should just remain silent.”_

_Despair and shame flooded your entire being._

_If only you didn’t say anything._

 

_xxXxx_

 

_“Can I please just go home? I haven’t done anything.”_

_“Aww, Dame-Tsuna wants to back to his mommy. Haha! As if.”_

_“How dare you try to talk back to us as if you have a choice?”_

_“When did you suddenly grow a pair?”_

_“Let’s show him guys what happens to disobedient children who don’t listen to their elders!”_

_A rain of fists and kicks assaulted your body from every direction and every angle. You tried to keep silent, but a solid swift kick to your gut caused your lips to part involuntarily, just enough for aborted pained noises to escape._

_Unfortunately, the unintentional sounds only further spur your classmates as their hits increased in strength and number._

_Why did you even talk back?_

_You idiot! You idiot!_

_If you had a better control of your tongue, they would’ve been sated just verbally berating you. But no, you had to run your smart mouth and now you were being beat up in a dark corner of the school._

_If only you didn’t say anything._

 

_xxXxx_

 

_You bent over at the crosswalk, hands resting on your knees, trying to catch your breath._

_In. Out._

_In.Out._

_"There you are Dame-Tsuna!"_

_Wheezing out._

_Looks like break time is over. You attempted to flee as the voice sounded closer but you were out of shape. Your bird bone limbs and flimsy muscles don't (can’t) respond, over-exerted from the mad dash you completed just seconds ago from school. It was hopeless. All you could do was peer morosely through your sweated brown locks at the approaching figure who was visibly emitting steam out of anger._

_Five feet plus of pure muscle and swagger._

_Five feet plus of hatred directed right at you._

_"I see you Sawada! Don't you dare try to run away now."_

_You couldn't even if you wanted to. Your limbs weren't responding._

_In just a few seconds, you finally felt the waves of tangible hatred emanating off. . . Kensuke Mochida. Captain of the Namimori Kendo Club. A chauvinist through and through. And self-elected president of the "I hate Dame-Tsuna" Club._

_"What do you think you were doing interrupting me and Kyoko after school today?"_

_This again? You honestly don’t understand why Mochida-senpai hated you so much. You hardly crossed paths at school, him being an upperclassman and all that. Your “Dame” reputation must have preceded you and made way to his ears. He was always picking fights with you. Even over the most trivial of matters. Such as this._

_"A teacher" wheeze "wanted" wheeze "to see her."_

_"Sorry Dame-Tsuna," Mochida sarcastically intoned, his eyes rolling behind his black bangs. "I don't think you understand me. I was just about to score her as my girlfriend just before you decided to butt in."_

_As if she would ever go out with him, you think to yourself. Kyoko wasn’t a prize to be won. She was a human being, living and breathing with feelings just like everyone. She was honestly too good for someone like him._

_Eh?" Mochida-senpai’s beady eyes narrowed, lips curling into a cruel cruel sneer that made you tense in preparation to flee. It was not looking good. "Too good for me?"_

_Oh shit shit shit shit shit. Definitely not good._

_"You're just jealous." Oh now he was way too close to you, his finger threateningly placing pressure on your chest. What did you even do. . .? "Dame-Tsuna will never ever compare to someone as perfect as me. You got jealous that you would never have Kyoko has your girlfriend. That’s why you butted in.”_

_He barked out a short clipped laugh as if a revelation just hit him._

_"I think someone needs to be put in their place. Someone needs to learn when to keep their mouth shut.”_

_Suddenly the single pressure on your chest disappears, but before you can breathe a sigh of relief, his arms re-extended, making contact with your chest. You stumbled not expecting that amount of force, but seeing from the horrified look on his face, he didn’t expect it either. Your feet slipped off the curve, body lacking the muscle power to stop your inevitable fall. At the same time, a car horn blasted on your right._

_If only you didn’t say anything. You wouldn’t have been in this mess._

_Maybe you shouldn't say anything at all._

 

* * *

 

 

           Pain. Pain Pain.

His body hurt all over, muscles tight, joints stiff and yearning for movement, but at the moment, it was a struggle to simply pry his eyelids apart. It took several tries but finally, his world lit up.

           White walls. Sterile smells of chemicals thinly veiled by fake floral scents. White bed sheets. A random framed photo of some foreign tropics. An aquarium of colorful tiny fish in the corner of the room. The sky. The sky. Where was the sky?

           The brunette’s upper torso practically jumped out of his bed and his head whipped around glancing quickly at the walls of the room. No window. No sky. Only artificial light. He clutched painfully at his brown roots, digging his nails painfully into his scalp, the pain not grounding him as it should have. Rather it scared him even more. He felt the pain.  What was going on? He was dead. He should be dead. He said his goodbyes to the sky. He should be DEAD.

           But his thoughts were quickly derailed as his body was assaulted by some force that quickly drew him into a warm source. He panicked, tensing at the contact, but quickly relaxed into the warmth upon noticing the light brown hair much like his own spread on his shoulder.

           Teary brown eyes peer at him through long damp eyelashes, filled with relief and the overwhelming emotion of love. His heart throbbed at the sight.

           “Oh Tsuna! Tsuna! You finally woke up,” Nana wailed, squeezing him closer and closer into her encircled arms.

           She released her hold on him to hold him at arm-reach, fingers digging into his shoulders as if she was afraid he would disappear the moment she relented even slightly. There they remained, drinking in each other’s appearances. Tsuna got a good look at his mother. And it was not a good look. Her eyes were blood-shot, rimmed with black rings that stood out starkly against her pale (much too pale) skin. Her hair normally neatly organized into straight locks that framed her face was unruly, mimicking Tsuna’s own gravity-defying hair. She must have not washed her hair for days. So that’s where I got my hair, Tsuna idly thought.

                The clearing of a throat attracted Tsuna’s attention, diverting it from his clingy mother to the white-cloaked figure behind her. He was met with a neutral smile from who he assumed to be his doctor.

                “Nice to meet you Tsuna. You must be very disoriented. You are currently in the Namimori Hospital. Sorry this may be a bit direct, but a week ago you were hit by a car. You suffered a lot of blood loss but bodily injuries were surprisingly non-fatal, your bones are currently healing though so you may experience some discomfort in the time being. We had to put you in a medically-induced coma though for the initial part of your healing process.”

                The doctor took this time to press a reassuring hand on Tsuna’s shoulder, a truer smile gracing her thin lips.

                “Welcome back Tsuna.”

                Tsuna opened his mouth to reply, but quickly scrambled out of his mother’s grasp and shrugged off the doctor to clench his throat. His mother looked disoriented and confused at her son’s sudden actions. Similarly, the doctor furrowed her eyebrows, foreboding feeling passing over her.

Again Tsuna tried to speak. Moved his lips open and close. Tried to go through the motions.

Anything. A word.

But no. Nothing.

His heart rate picked up suddenly as realization slowly hit him.

Not a sound would come out. No sound could come out.

 

xxXxx

 

_If only you didn’t say anything at all._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: the prev chapter 2 was combined with chapter 1 per a great recommendation :)

“Tsu-kun! Time for lunch!”

           

Tsuna gently rolled over onto his back and begrudgingly extracted himself from his warm blanket cocoon. He shivered, clutching at his goosebump-covered arms, the chilly Japanese winter air assaulting him. Winter was never his favorite season. He was far too sensitive to the cold weather. His mother always attested it to his lack of meat on his bones. Every winter, she made sure to double his meal portions in the hopes that some would stay with him. It never did. But Tsuna wasn't quite so sure. Of his mother’s reasoning. He often felt his perpetually freezing state was something deeper than a purely physical reason. Regardless of the layers, even if he swelled to triple his size with clothes alone, he always felt the chill throughout his body, resonating deep within him. A hollow ache almost. His chest contracted at the thought.

 

Absentmindedly, Tsuna feebly rasped, “Coming, okaa-san.”

 

Slowly but surely, Tsuna made his way to the dining, making sure to grab a notebook and pencil from his desk. His throat was sore, and he didn’t want to exacerbate the pain. That’s what he got for not speaking all that often.

           

As Tsuna maneuvered his way out of his room, he mentally thanked his mother’s decision to move him to the downstairs guest room. Stairs and crutches combined with his unfailing clumsiness was just a disaster waiting to happen. It was already a task and a half to not trip on flat ground. Besides, more logically, prior to his crutches, he was in a wheelchair, having broken a foot in his . . . accident. And Tsuna wasn’t about to devote the brain power or time to figure how he’d even make it down the stairs in one piece in that state.

 

“There you are Tsuna.” His mom glanced over at him from her station in the kitchen chopping some vegetables. “How's your foot today?” she asked, once Tsuna settled down in front of his lunch, noting his notebook in hand.

 

“ _Fine, mum. I've been resting all morning and took my medication._ ” Tsuna lifted up his inky- blue, scrawled writing in his notebook for his mother to read.

 

“That's good, Tsu-kun.” There was a brief beat of silence, a slight hesitation from his mother. Tsuna tensed. “Do you think your foot is well enough to walk on though or should I take out the wheelchair for when we visit Dr. Mizuki?”

 

Her voice was cautiously light, almost as if she was merely exhaling the last two words of her sentence, not enough air in her lungs to properly enunciate her words. She consciously avoided eye contact with her son, turning to her work on her cutting board. The sound thwack of the knife against the cutting board filled the ensuing silence.

 

Inwardly Tsuna cringed. He hated his sessions with Dr. Mizuki, a therapist recommended by the doctors at the hospital.

 

That day when Tsuna finally woke up, he couldn't speak. In a flurry, the doctors ran through the customary tests, brain scans, and other various medical stuff with names and explanations that had made Tsuna’s brain spin. But there was nothing wrong. No head trauma. No vocal cord damage. Nothing. The doctors were stumped, until a few days after Tsuna woke up.

His mother was tending to him in bed, fussily fluffing and re-fluffing his pillows and smoothing out the perpetually wrinkled sheets of his hospital bed. Tsuna’s mom was a tightly wound ball of energy and tension since Tsuna woke up. She couldn’t sit still even as the doctors came in to do checkups. She was always buzzing around, playing with Tsuna’s hands and never straying too far, always trying to make contact with him to constantly reaffirm that her son was truly there in front of her. Her consideration for her son was laudable, but all Tsuna wished was for her to calm down. He survived the accident and he was very much alive.

 

Watching her impulsively fix his bed, Tsuna just wanted her to relax. Without thinking Tsuna spoke. “Okaa-san, I’m fine. Please, just relax. Take a nap or a seat at least.”

 

Tsuna’s actions didn’t immediately register. He remained perplexed as he watched his mother’s expression morph from shock, to realization, and pure unrestrained joy. She lept at Tsuna, and Tsuna was reminded of the moment several days ago when he first woke up, smothered in her embrace. Just like that moment, her thin arms crushed him with an unsuspecting strength. His ears were also assaulted as his mother let out a squeal of joy. Still confused, Tsuna awkwardly began patting her back, rubbing circles in an attempt to console her from her sudden burst of happiness. That’s how the nurses found him and his mother as they came rushing into his room, alerted by the still loud shouts coming from Tsuna’s mother.

 

The doctors came soon after, after the nurses alerted them about the situation. As they barged into the room, Nana excitedly shouted at them, “My son has spoken!” The doctors couldn’t believe it. Tsuna hadn’t spoken for several days, and all of a sudden, he speaks now?

 

The doctors had immediately prompted Tsuna to redo this miraculous event, but it was impossible. Once the doctors appeared in front of him, Tsuna broke down. Under the pressure of way too many curious eyes, his palms began to sweat, and hands trembled imperceptibly, clenching his bedsheets. All that came from his mouth were incomprehensible stutters, and afterwards, nothing. Meanwhile, he watched at the corner of his eyes, the visible sag of his mother’s shoulders and the disheartened expressions on the doctors’ faces.

 

Tsuna was prompted several times afterwards to say a word. “Just one work, Tsu-kun. Please. For the doctors. For me.” But nothing would come out, no matter how hard he tried.

 

The doctors were stumped, leaving the room to converse out of range of the worried ears of Tsuna and his mother. For a good twenty minutes, they were left sitting in the room, Nana returned to her spastic mother-henning and Tsuna closed his eyes, wishing to disappear from the suddenly tense situation. It was too much for him to handle.

 

One of the doctors popped her head through a crack in the door, pulling Nana out of the room, lightly closing the door behind them, but Tsuna could still catch bits and pieces of the conversations. The doors in the hospital didn’t fit exactly in their frame, Tsuna absentmindedly noted, spotting glimpses of shuffling feet in a gap between the door and the floor.

 

“He’s . . . shy. . . or could be defiant . . . but he . . .tried . . will outgrow . . . recommend Dr. . . . she will help him . . .”

 

Nana returned shortly after, carrying a small sheet with scrawled writing.

 

And so began his meetings with Dr. Mizuki.

A hesitant sounding “Tsuna” pulled Tsuna from his reverie, making contact with his mother’s worried eyes. He hated Dr. Mizuki. Hated the sessions. She just didn’t understand. But meeting his mother’s entreating gaze, Tsuna caved. His mother wanted it. It would mean the world to her if continued to frequent these sessions, if at least to make her feel as if she was doing something for him, rather than passively watching her son impose this isolation upon himself.

 

Begrudgingly, Tsuna wrote in his notebook, raising it for his mother to see. It was uplifting seeing his mother’s worried face shift, more relaxed and genuinely smiling.

 

_“Crutches.”_

 

*****

 

            Tsuna resolutely picked away at the hand rest of the blue sofa he was currently seated in, the threads weaved into the piece of furniture rather stubborn. Blue was a nice color, Tsuna thought to himself. Definitely in his top three of favorite colors. It was the color of the sky after all, but nothing was prettier than the orange tint of the sky when the sun was rising and setting, casting everything in a warm orange glow. Yeah, orange was definitely his favorite color. If only this couch was such an orange. It’d be so much prettier . . .

           

            “Tsuna, please. If you don’t put in any effort into these sessions, it would be a waste of your parents’ hard-earned money.”

 

            Ah, the guilt trip card. Tried and failed numerous times.

 

            Tsuna continued to ignore the plea, instead choosing to focus on the metal placard on the desk off to the side of the room. Dr. Mizuki was engraved in shiny gold lettering. How fed up he was with that name.

 

            An irritated huff was exhaled somewhere in front of him, and the tell-tale sound of a metal clipboard on rich mahogany wood alerted Tsuna that the session was coming to a close. Thank god, finally.

 

            “Look Tsuna. I mean this literally Tsuna. Please just look at me.”

 

            The almost childish pleading tone caught Tsuna’s attention. He begrudgingly turned to look at the lady in front of him. She was the epitome of frustration and tiredness. The skin between her eyebrows pinched together. The bottom of her painted pink lips caught on the top row of her teeth. Her thick black hair cascading carelessly out of her pinned up bun. Her hands clenched atop the blue skirt of her dress.

 

            “I don’t understand why you can’t put some effort into these sessions. Are we not comfortable with one another? We have spent the last few weeks together. You were speaking more through your notebook. But I truly believe that it is time to move on from your dependency on your notebook.” Tsuna drew his notebook in closer to his chest. “You should talk more Tsuna. Not just with your mother, but with me as well. If not me, maybe your doctors. Or start with the nurses. We can take this one step at a time Tsuna, but you need to start talking more. It’s not healthy for you if this continues.”

 

 

            As Dr. Mizuki droned on, Tsuna just felt his irritation rise. Hastily, he flipped open his notebook to a blank page, laying it on his thighs for a stable surface to write on. Once he finished, he lifted the book to his therapist, feeling frustration rise again as tiredness edged even more into her features.

 

            “ _I am trying!!! But I just cannot speak.”_

 

            Dr. Mizuki merely sighed, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. Unconsciously Tsuna cringed. He hated that motion.

 

            “No Tsuna. You are perfectly capable of speaking. The doctor records are proof of that. You just need to force yourself to talk. You need to overcome this shyness of yours. But fine, let’s try this instead. Penpals.”

 

            Tsuna cocked an eyebrow, the word piquing his interest. Dr. Mizuki reached down to her clipboard, pulling a small yellow post-it note off the top sheet. Tsuna cautiously reached out to receive the paper, using the tips of his fingers to avoid making contact with her hands.

 

“Umami” the paper read.

 

            “That is the name of your penpal. Their email is listed right below it.” Dr. Mizuki added, motioning towards the bottom of the paper. “Seeing as speaking still remains outside of your comfort zone, why don’t you try getting yourself accustomed to ‘talking’ with other people, new people.” Dr. Mizuki gave Tsuna a wan smile. “Please, just try this out. You can keep it as impersonal as you want. Just talk about sports, or hobbies, or even the weather. I just want you talking to other people, testing some of your boundaries.”

 

Taking pity on his therapist, Tsuna nodded, feeling a bit relieved as a truer smile claimed Dr. Mizuki’s lips. Yet, even as he walked home with his mother who chattered indistinctly next to him, he had his doubts. He hadn’t talked to someone new since he woke up from his coma, excluding his doctors and Dr. Mizuki. How would they react? Would they just be like everyone else, like all the people in his school? It was too much of a risk.

 

After all, wouldn’t it be better if he _didn’t say anything at all._

 

*****

 

           For days, Tsuna pushed off sending the email. He had taped up the post-it note with the pen name and email, a constant reminder, on his wall. Several times he tried following through with Dr. Mizuki’s suggestion, opening and booting up his laptop. However, every time without fail, he promptly shut it down, before the internet browser had time to load, overwhelmed with self-doubt.

 

            It wasn’t until a late contemplative night, in a state of partial lucidity and uncharacteristic go-get-‘em attitude, staring at the starry sky from his window did Tsuna do anything. It was only a day away from another session with Dr. Mizuki, and last session he was forced into pinky promising her to send an email, having pushed it off way too long.

 

It wasn’t that Tsuna was willingly rebellious. He didn’t hate Dr. Mizuki per say. He understood she was just doing her job, but he just couldn’t open up to her. He couldn’t get comfortable, so it came off as annoyance instead. She just didn’t understand him. She was trying but not well enough. She couldn’t realize that he was truly trying to speak. Tsuna knew that his inability to speak was more than just shyness. He just knew. Intuition he concluded, but no one, especially not Dr. Mizuki, would accept such an answer. But maybe, just maybe he could try. Every day he felt the prodding gaze of his mother when Dr. Mizuki spoke to her about the penpal arrangement.

 

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try,” Tsuna concluded.

 

Tentatively he booted up his computer, typed his password, and patiently waited for the internet browser to load. With shaking fingers, he typed in his penpal’s email, just barely restraining his hands from slamming his computer shut. He never got this far before. His chest was beating, rapidly like a hummingbird, as he typed in the email he knew by memory, having spent hours on end contemplating the piece of paper. From then on, his fingers were in control, reflexively typing up the simple and non-invasive email he spent days writing and rewriting in his notebook but was too scared to send.

 

Quickly, Tsuna clicked the send button knowing that any moment of hesitation would result in him shutting down the laptop sending the incomplete email into his draft box.

 

            Up at the top of his screen popped a confirmation box. “Your email has been sent!”

 

            Tsuna heaved out a sigh, not realizing he was holding his breath. With one hand on his chest, he worked on controlling his breathing, a technique he learned from Dr. Mizuki. One thing she was successful in.

 

Suck a deep inhale in through the nose.

 

Exhale deeply through the mouth.

 

 Repeat. 

 

In. Out. In. Out.

 

            Once his breathing steadied, no longer fluttering but pulsing normally, Tsuna closed his computer. That was enough excitement for the night. He peered over his bedside clock. 1:40 a.m. Well, scratch that. That was enough excitement for the day. He was sleeping in late.

 

            Tsuna tucked himself tightly in his bedsheets. Time to get some rest.

 

*****

 

7:06 am

From: Umami

 

Nice to meet you . . .

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so formatting has never been my strong point. . .It hella bothers me but I'm lazy right now. Tired from writing this chapter at 3:18 in the morning. 
> 
> So breakdown: Tsuna can and will only speak to his mother. He cannot speak to anyone else for reasons that are explained later. I will say that this diagnosis of shyness is sadly inaccurate.
> 
> Also guesses to who Umami is??? :O I hope it's not obvious because I tried so hard for it not to be. I literally have a list of pen names scrawled out on a pad of paper that I went through. 
> 
> A penny for your thoughts btw. Comments and critiques are beloved because how else am I supposed to improve as a writer ;) I'm a total noob.


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